


i'm the one for your fire, & i'll take you higher

by Jozxyqk



Category: Clean Bandit (Band), Years & Years (Band)
Genre: Bodily Fluids, Boys In Love, Dirty Talk, Dry Humping, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Male Solo, Masturbation, Phone Sex, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tour Bus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 12:32:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4666626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jozxyqk/pseuds/Jozxyqk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Say something dirty,” Olly whispers.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm the one for your fire, & i'll take you higher

**Author's Note:**

> In which Neil and Olly have phone sex - because they're always sweetly complaining in interviews about being away from each other so much and I love writing dirty talk. This is utterly self-indulgent and very graphic. Also partly inspired by [this (audio, nsfw)](http://buddycarmody.tumblr.com/post/96497300510/humping-my-pillow) \- if anyone at all wants to know how I imagine Olly sounding in this fic. (Ignore the speech at the beginning, of course, because that sounds nothing like him.) 
> 
> Neil and Olly belong to themselves, as do their bands, this never happened and I am making no profit.
> 
> Forgive me, as this is the first fic I have written for almost two years. Title taken from Worship by Years & Years.

“Hey, little one.”

“Are you alone?”

God, what a ridiculous, cliché way to begin a call of this nature – but Olly has to. He’s too put on to care. It’s been building inside him all day. He was breathless and flushed during the show – not on autopilot, never, only glazed and trembling – well, more than usual, anyway. And he’s finally managed to get a moment to himself, alone on the tour bus while Emre and Mikey are partying it up inside. He feigned tiredness; his pink cheeks and glassy eyes serving to make his story seem genuine. Either that, or give him away entirely. It doesn’t matter.

Olly’s been this horny before, of course he has, but it doesn’t happen often and it’s because of _Neil_. Since they’ve been together, he’s always had Neil around to alleviate it, and before Neil? It has never been like this. Not when he was fifteen and stroking himself under his duvet at night, picturing himself on his knees for various actors, musicians. Not during filming of The Riot Club, when Sam – beautiful Sam – had teased him to distraction in and out of character and they’d finally ended up sharing bruising, angry kisses and quick, dirty handjobs against the wall behind the pub.

He’d like nothing more than a quick, dirty handjob right now. Not angry kisses, though. Neil’s kisses are sweet and passionate, always have been, and he hopes, always will be. He shifts on his bunk, making sure for the fifty-seventh time that the curtains are firmly drawn. Olly is still half-dressed, in his yellow t-shirt and boxers (turquoise with black stars on, the tight waistband restraining his aching-hard cock). He hears Neil moving, what sounds like Grace laughing in the background.

“I am now.” Neil says. “Are you okay?”

Fuck. Just the sound of his voice is working Olly up. His voice is higher, involuntarily breathy, warmth spreading through the tips of his fingers as he says,

“Sorry. Am I interrupting you guys?”

“Christ, Olls,” Neil sounds adorably concerned but also a little amused. “You sound like you’re in heat, or something.”

“I _feel_ like I’m in heat,” Olly gasps back. “Or something.” His hand is splayed on his chest, long fingers rubbing the soft cotton, friction to the skin underneath. “I need you.” He’s outright moaning now.

“Olly,” Neil’s voice is pained, now, and Olly can tell it’s because he’s so far away, and maybe because he’s remembering the last time Olly was frantic for touch like this. They had been together in a hotel on that occasion. While Neil reclined in a fancy chair, Olly had climbed whimpering into his lap and rubbed himself against Neil’s cock through their jeans until he came. He’d gone on to come a further three times in various ways involving Neil’s mouth and hands and eventually his dick all over again.

“Baby boy,” Neil sighs, “I’ve got you. I’ll fix you.”

This is so unbelievably sweet and Olly gulps, a small needful sound fighting it’s way from his throat. 

“Please,” he almost whines, his desire for Neil almost a white agony now. He’s unbelievably hard, and leaking copiously into his shorts. Olly’s always been self-conscious about how wet he gets, but Neil relishes it, drinks him in, talks dirty about it in this reverent voice. And right on cue, Neil says,

“Are you wet?”

“A little bit,” Olly tells him, which is a lie – he’s so slick it’s dripping down his shaft and pooling where his thigh meets his groin, but it’s nothing compared to how wet he can be. “Please,” he whimpers again, and hears Neil bite back a groan. Neil has always loved it when he begs.

Neil loves it even more when Olly is far gone enough to quite the begging and order him around instead. When he’s worked up enough to be uninhibited, to talk about what they’re doing, what he wants.

“Say something dirty,” Olly whispers.

“Get on your knees, my sweet angel. My dirty little fucker.” Neil half-growls, and Olly exhales sharply, helpless at the lovely combination of endearment and filth. He obeys immediately, turning over, spreading his thighs. There’s not much room in the tour bus bunks but he doesn’t mind, bends his head and cradles the phone between his shoulder and his cheek as if it’s an intimate, precious object – which, right now, it is, because it’s his link to Neil.

“Are you still wearing clothes, little love?”

“Uh-hmm.” Of course he is. Olly loves sexual touch through clothes, especially through the thin barrier of his underwear. And he knows Neil knows it.

“Good boy. Want you to grab your pillow now. Put it between your legs. You’re going to grind on it for me.”

Olly thinks he might come then and there. He does as he’s told, bunching up one of his three pillows (he can’t sleep with less than three pillows) and straddling it between his slender thighs. Olly clutches the phone to his ear, biting his lip and trying to control his breathing, waiting for Neil to speak again.

“If I was there,” Neil murmurs, and oh _god_ , it’s like he is, with his voice so intense and thick with desire right in Olly’s ear, “If I was there, I’d have my fingers inside you right now. I know you love it when I finger you.”

Olly can’t help it, his hips judder, sliding his cock against the pillow and the soaked fabric of his boxers. He moans out, eyes rolling back into his head.

“That’s it, baby,” Neil purrs, “I’d have my hand in the back of your shorts, teasing your hole until you can’t stand it and you fuck yourself on my fingers. How many do you want?”

“Two,” Olly practically sobs, “Neil – please,”

“Get them wet, angel.”

Olly’s fingers fly to his mouth, licking and sucking on them until they’re as wet as his dick, making sure Neil can hear exactly what he’s doing. After a moment, during which Olly imagines sucking something rather different and shudders with it, Neil quietly orders,

“Put them inside you.”

Olly closes his eyes and arches his back, reaching behind him to pull his boxers down over his pert arse and spreads his thighs further, sliding the tips of his fingers inside his clenching heat. He can’t help crying out, probably too loud, because it feels so fucking sweet. His body bows, craving more, craving Neil’s fingers instead of his own – most of all, craving Neil’s thick cock, silky with pre-cum and lube. He presses inside himself gently, the movement forcing his body down against the bunched pillow and his hips move of their own volition, rocking into it.

“How wet are you?” Neil asks abruptly.

“So wet,” Olly says, “I’m so wet, Neil – and humping this pillow like a wanton slut.”

“ _Jesus_.” Neil sighs, and Olly hears the faint sound of his zipper coming down. “Jesus, Olly, want you so fucking bad.”

“Tell me what you’re doing,” Olly pleads.

“I have my hand in my jeans, babe,” Neil tells him, “Wrapped around my dick – I’m so hard for you. I need to be inside you.”

Olly bites his lip _hard_ , pressing deeper inside his slick entrance, scissoring his fingers slowly. The pillow beneath him is damp and hot from his skin. He can’t stop the slow, desperate movement of his hips. The friction feels fucking wonderful. He’s fervently wishing it’s Neil he’s grinding against, dry-humping him like a lapdancer, making them both moan.

“I wanna come,” Olly sighs, trembling all over.

“Not yet,” Neil says gently, “Pretty boyslut. I know you want to come, darling, come all in your boxers and soak them for me. I love how wet you are, how you spill all over yourself when I touch you, when I finger you – put another one in your arse, baby. I’m not finished with you. I wanna come with you.”

Olly does so, almost in tears of need. He’s pretty sure Neil could make him come with words alone. Maybe one day they’ll try it. His moans rise further in pitch as he stretches himself, loving the sweet burn of it. Even three fingers aren’t thick enough to feel like Neil’s cock, but they’re all he has. He can hear rapid slick sounds over the phone now, pictures Neil with jeans shoved hastily down around his hips, fisting his cock. Olly shivers.

“Are you - ?” he starts, but Neil is there first.

“Stroking myself now, baby, thinking about you all spread out for me, all soaked and needy. Not going to last long – ” Neil breaks off with a slight chuckle, “But you won’t either, will you? You’re going to come soon, you’re going to lose it and toss off all over yourself and I’m going to come – with you…”

“ _Fuck_!” 

“Want me to eat you out, sweetheart?” Neil says, voice low and melting. “That’s your favourite. My tongue in your sweet hole, spreading you open, licking into you…”

“Ungh, yeah. Lick me, Neil. I want your mouth on me. I love it.” Olly gasps, running his index finger slow and silky-wet around his rim, eyes closed tight, imagining straddling Neil’s face.

“There’s my filthy gorgeous love,” Neil tells him, and Olly can hear him smiling. He likes nothing better than working Olly into a dirty-mouthed, frantic, lustful mess. “Say it again.”

“Lick it, Neil – god, I’m so close…”

Neil groans right into the phone.

“Put me on speaker.”

Panting, Olly does, fingers still working inside himself, his golden-bleached hair sticking to his forehead. He can feel tickling trails of sweat running down the curve of his spine.

“Done,” he gulps, placing the phone carefully beside him on the bunk.

“Up on all fours, beautiful.” Neil says, and he sounds close now. “Keep fingering yourself and stroke it at the same time. Put your hand in those soaking boxers and rub your gorgeous cock.”

“I’ll come so quick if I do that – Neil…”

“Good. I want you to come, Olly. I want you to cream yourself for me.”

Olly hooks his wrist inside the elastic waistband of his pants and wraps his hand around his juicy cock. It’s fucking awkward with his other hand still behind him and his fingers buried in his tight heat, and he ends up falling on his face, arse in the air, cheek pressed against the bed next to the phone so Neil can hear him when he comes. Lubricated with his own fluids – so much pre-cum, it’s as if he’s already climaxed – Olly strokes himself. He grips tight and slides his hand up and down as slow as he can bear, wanting this to last. God, it was worth the wait. With Neil, it always is.

“I’m ready, babe…” Neil moans from the phone, “Are you – ready, oh, god, I want to hear you come…”

“Yes, yeah – oh, Neil, it’s happening, I’m coming…”

And Olly’s voice breaks in a long, high moan-wail, not unlike his singing, and he’s spilling liquid heat over his fingers and into the saturated sticky wetness of his underwear. He can feel himself clenching hard around his fingers. “Oh, Neil…” he whimpers, aching, almost sated, and Neil’s answering moan of release makes him shudder with another spasm of pleasure.

“Feels so good, Olly,” Neil says, “So good, babe, ah…” He trails off into short staccato groans, sounding so utterly lovely that Olly would be hard again had he not barely finished coming.

“God, that’s sexy, Neil,” he grins, coming back to himself a little. “Wish you were here.”

Neil pants into the phone for a little while before answering.

“Wish I was too, little love.” he says. “Not long now.”

“Thank you.” Olly tells him quietly.

“For what, darling?”

“For indulging me. For wanking off over the phone with me. For making me come my brains out. I love you. Did I screw up anything important with my weird horny phone call?”

“Just a song-writing session. And you never screw anything up.”

“Oh, god. Sorry, love.”

“Not even a problem.”

Olly smiles, crawling out from his bunk and walking on shaky legs to the bus’s tiny bathroom.

“I'll let you get back to it, but - call me later?” he asks, looking at his flushed and grinning face in the mirror. “Round two?”

“Round two sounds perfect. Speak later, angel.”

Olly takes the phone away from his ear and is about to press the round red button to hang up when Neil’s voice comes again.

“Olly?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you too.”


End file.
